


One for the Money, Two for the Show

by phoenixofsin



Series: Must be This Tall to Ride [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Boot Worship, M/M, light humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixofsin/pseuds/phoenixofsin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dimension B-1919. Morty has run away to join Rick's inter-dimensional traveling circus and it's up to him to save the the show (or so he believes)... but how far will he go to do it? When things heat up, Rick entirely misreads the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  


Morty did  _ not  _ want to be a clown for this show. He sighed as he studied his ridiculous rainbow reflection in the old mirror tucked in the corner of his sparsely decorated, cot-crammed tent.

_ Nothing about this even fits me right,  _ he noticed.  _ Maybe it wasn't supposed to?  _ The sleeves seemed to hit right between wrist and elbow, and when he tried to tug them down, it pulled the shoulder, making the large frilled collar tilt to one side. He sighed again, louder.

“ H-hey,  _ Morty _ ”  a voice from the other side of the tent startled him. Rick, in his sharp and well-tailored ringmaster costume, moved into the frame of the mirror. He was grinning with streaks of whatever pungent liquor he had been drinking today dripping from his lips. “Looking good, Morty” he said while clearly holding back a snort.

“ Yeah, okay Rick” He tried to put on the same sort of nonchalant airs that he imagined Rick would were he in his situation.  _ Not that he ever would be _ , Morty thought bitterly, while he readjusted his oversized collar.

Rick just continued smiling. He knew the kid hated being a clown, _but maybe he should have considered that before running away to join the damn circus without any training what-so-ever, Rick thought. At least now when he is a total fuck-up in the ring, people will think it's just a stupid bit._ He took a long swig from his flask and watched in the mirror while Morty just continued to fidget with the ill-fitting costume.

“The show doesn't staURRt for another couple of-- another two hours” Rick reminded him. “Why don't you go be productive and h-help old Madame Zorpo set up her fortune-telling tent, huh?” Rick made it sound like a suggestion, but they both knew that Morty didn't have much choice in the matter.

“Fine,” Morty breathed. He turned to leave the tent.

“Morty.”

He looked back over his shoulder, still holding the tent flap open in front of him.

“Don't forget your pom-pom hat.” It hit him in the face, surprising him and knocking him off-balance. He tripped out of the tent, swearing and clutching the colorful conical hat in his hands.

Rick sat for a moment waiting before he reached for his phone.  
“He's on his way. We still have a deal, you old bat?”

  


\-------------------------------------------

  


Morty stepped hesitantly into the darkened tent,  unfamiliar smells of  strong alien  incense and herbs stung his nose.

“ Uh... Madame... Zorpo??” Morty called into the shadows  falteringly , his eyes still adjusting to the darkness after walking through the bright lights of the midway.

“Mmmoorty” a raspy voice replied, not a foot away from his face. He felt her breath on his cheek and he drew back. Suddenly, a soft indigo light illuminated a large crystal orb between them. It lit the old Nuptian alien's face from below like some frightening campfire storyteller. At this point though, Morty was more uncomfortable than frightened.

“Well, uh, Rick told me to help you set up, but I can see that you--”

“ _ You _ can see?” she croaked out a laugh. “Dear one, no... it is  _ I _ who can see. And I see many things in your future, boy.”

“O-oh yeah?” Morty was taken aback. The light in the crystal ball shifted and swirled, enrapturing him in its movements with the aromatic assault, making him feel dizzy. He was curious and just naive enough to bite.

“Okay, uh, can you tell me...” He hesitated. “Should I have stayed? Should I have stayed at home and never tried to follow Rick here?” The Nuptian laughed again, like a wheeze. Her hands passed over the glowing orb, almost pulling the light as if it were smoke pulsing and rippling around her fingers. Morty was so in awe with the spectacle that he jumped when she finally spoke again.

“Yesss... You are where you are supposed to be, child. By Rick's side.”

Morty felt his cheeks flush.  An involuntary grin spread across his face, making him secretly glad for the darkness of the tent. He liked those words...  _ By Rick's side _ .

But just as he was feeling a little better about the situation, the light purple tinting the edges of the old alien woman's face in front of him turned a sickly green, and she scowled down into the sphere. Morty tensed up and all of a sudden became very aware of the utter and improbable silence in the tent despite being surrounded on all sides by loud games and louder barkers.

“ However... I do have warnings for you  _ from the other side, _ ”  She added, with a grave tone. Morty's smile faltered.

“Ah jeez, of course you do.”

“No, boy... you don't understand. If you do not listen and take precautions, real evil will befall all of us here. Death... and destruction.” She cawed out. Morty felt himself break out into a cold sweat.

“W-w-what?” He stuttered, alarmed. “What do I have to do??”

He wrung his hat in his hands anxiously while he waited for the Nuptian to finish consulting the now-wild green storm spinning in the crystal ball. Morty felt sick.

“There are three tasks. Each is very very important to complete, child. You must do each of these tasks... tonight!!” She grabbed the front of the boy's costume with her gnarled fingers.

“ Yes, yes, okay, what do I have to do?” He repeated. His throat was tight and dry as he tried to swallow back the  nausea rising in his throat.

  


 

* * *

  


Rick fell back into the big comfortable chair in his private tent, swinging his long legs over the arm. He had just made the rounds before opening and everything was in its place and everyone was getting ready to go for when the circus opened in just under an hour. Now all he had to do was wait for Morty to come find him...

He idly ran the rough length of his ringmaster's whip through the palms of his hands.  _ I wonder if that batty old hag was convincing enough.  _ He speculated to himself while he casually flicked the end of the whip on the floor.

He was pretty proud of this particular scheme. He had bribed that “fortune-teller” of his to feed Morty some gibberish about fate and curses befalling him unless Morty performed a series of embarrassing tasks like cleaning out the testicle monster's cage, wearing an even  _ more _ humiliating costume, and trying to prove to Rick that he really appreciated him. He was especially curious about how that last one would manifest.

_ All in good fun of course. Nothing wrong with a little hazing for the new kid,  _ he assured himself as he knocked back another gulp from his flask.

He swung his legs back down and sat up straight when he heard footsteps approaching his tent. Morty's head poked through the tent flap, the rest of him self-consciously following suit. He was wearing a little tutu with suspenders and big yellow bloomers poking out from the bottom.

“Ha ha! Holy shit.” Rick snickered. “What are you wearing there MoURRrty?” He leaned back to laugh and his tall top-hat nearly tumbled down the back of his chair. Morty's cheeks burned pink with embarrassment.

He looked adorable.

“Shut up, Rick!” Morty snapped back. “It's the only other clown costume we had!”

“ And what was wrong with the one you had  _ before _ ?” He asked, knowing the answer.

“Madame Zorpo... told me what happened to the last person who wore it! Sh-she told me it was cursed!” It suddenly sounded idiotic when he said it out loud and all Morty could do was blush deeper and not make eye contact with Rick.

He still continued, “She also told me some other stuff, Rick.” Morty approached Rick's chair apprehensively, as he self-consciously pressed the short tutu back down over his hips. Their knees were almost touching when Morty finally met Rick's eyes.

Rick was taken aback by the boy's sudden sheepish demeanor.  _ What the hell did that woman tell him? _

As if in response, Morty continued, “She uh... she said that I'm supposed to be here with you. By your side... a-at the circus I mean.”

Rick stared expressionless at the boy in front of him whose face glowed with embarrassment, but for a moment there was a glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. Rick's breath caught in his throat.

“I wanna do, um, something real nice for you, Rick.” Morty put his hand gently on Rick's knee. Rick's head spun like the tilt-a-whirl.

“UhH, that's not necessary, Morty,” Rick stammered as he sat up a little straighter in his chair.

“No, I really want to.” He insisted as he dipped down to his knees, hand softly tracing down Rick’s pant leg.

_ Shit, shit, shit, this is not exactly what I had in mind for “appreciation”.  _ Rick inhaled deeply, tasting that salty popcorn scent that permeated the air. His heart beat faster than the distant thrum of the circus band and he felt a shameful growing heat on his thigh.

_ What is this kid thinking?  _ He leaned back and closed his eyes, bracing himself.

And then…

Nothing? His eyes snapped opened and he looked down between his knees at the boy who was now very enthusiastically…  
_ Shining my boots? _

“ G-god damn it, Morty” Rick breathed out, pinching the bridge of his nose and kicking him away.

“I.. what?” Morty asked as he looked up, flustered after grabbing at the little bottle of shoe polish that was almost knocked over.

Rick stared down at him, and shifted uncomfortably.

“Nothing. Nothing, Morty...” He paused, and finally smirked.

“Did I say to stop?”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step right up, don't be shy! Back by popular demand! In this spectacular spectacle Ringmaster Rick gets too drunk for his own good and finally flips the script on poor Morty. Be sure to stay for the finale, because I can assure you there will be a standing ovation~! *snort*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Team Smut for making me write this and then making it not totally suck ilu perverts lmao thank you for making sure every circus pun I had didn't end up in this one PS sorry for bad formatting ahh

The sun was well beyond the horizon when the final “all out” call echoed through the speakers set up all throughout the sprawling and still-buzzing circus grounds. From the back yard to the arches, performers and roustabouts scurried to begin the long-awaited tear down. Morty hung back briefly before he made his way through the last of the bustling alien performers who spilled out of the back door of the huge domed flying-saucer big top. He was tired and humiliated as he trudged slowly back to clown alley to deposit his props back into the prop hand's care.

 He wiped his sweat-soaked forehead on the frilly sleeve of his costume and tried to choke back the urge to cry in front of the other performers who in reality were far too focused on making their own way to their after-show duties during tear down to even look at him anyways. He had royally screwed up tonight, and dreaded facing the other clown performers back at the dimly lit dressing area that stunk like weed and low quality plastic props. Already he could imagine the murmurs, sideways remarks, and rude names in various alien dialects being spit at him by his far more experienced peers.

 But they were done for now, and next was the long jump to the new stand on the route tomorrow.

  _Not much I can fuck up while traveling,_ he half-joked to himself, his eyes welling up and blurring the passing neon lights and glittering costumes into watercolors around him.

 But the next thing he knew he had plowed directly into someone in front of him.

 “MoURRty” Rick belched, after grabbing the boy’s shoulders to steady himself after the sudden collision. Rick was drunk already...

_Or still, rather?_ Morty wondered.

 He wiped the tears from his eyes quickly, hoping Rick hadn't noticed them; he hadn't. They stood right outside the G-top, a private and swanky tent where Rick often went after the last show of the stand to share a drink with the higher-up staff while the rest of the crew worked hard to disassemble everything and get it packed up into the caravan of ships for tomorrow. Rick had been lingering in the entryway, talking loudly to the group at the table inside with a bottle of something that absolutely reeked held loosely in his grip.

 “Morty, you-you stepped all over my shoes. You just stepped all over them, Morty” Rick slurred as he indicated his once-immaculately shined boots which now had a huge scuff and line of mud where Morty had, in fact, accidentally stepped when he crashed into the man. The others who were gathered around a large table inside the G-top snickered as they watched the two in the curtained entryway as if they were some sort of aftershow.

 “Having a ha-hard time walking today, huh?” Rick jabbed, “Don't think we didn't all see how you tripped up the whole charivari out there, Morty.” He continued. The boy felt his blood rush into his face, and it made him dizzy. Rick indicated back to his feet with the bottle splashing putrid liquid onto Morty's costume.

 “I have half a mind to have you shine them up again after that one.” Rick emphasized “again” and gave the group inside a suggestive nod. That set off the rowdy bunch into loud mocking guffaws.

 “What the hell, Rick?” Morty's cheeks burned. The intoxicated ringmaster was still holding onto his shoulder for support, and somehow managed to empty more of his drink onto the boy. Rick was very drunk. Even for his own standards he was absolutely sloshed.

 “Jeez, _hey_ , you're spilling on me!” He whined while Rick tripped slightly into him. “Okay, ugh, you need to lay down, Rick.”

 “Yeahh, okay.”

 He let Morty guide him towards his tent all the way at the back of the yard and well away from the wild G-top.

 “Y-you're a gooUURd kid, even though you're a- a really lousy clown.” He mumbled, leaning into Morty's shoulder as he was led past the tired rows of the living quarter tents. A few people from the alleys watched them pass. Morty could feel the fleeting warmth of Rick's saliva soaking through the fabric near his neck and it made him shiver in the dusty cold night of this strange planet.

 “Yeah, well you’re an asshole. Why’d you have to tell everyone I shined your shoes before, huh, Rick?”

Rick was quiet and seemed to be focusing on keeping upright, which was quite the feat with the spinning lights that lit the worker’s ways slipping in and out of his view.

 Finally Morty pushed his way through the tent opening, deposited Rick into his cot, and turned to leave. Rick was glad for the darker setting, and when his eyes adjusted he caught the boy’s arm.

 “Where do you think you're going?” Rick demanded to know, lifting something between an accusing and a beckoning finger.

 “I-I still have to turn in my costume and props to the--”

 “I wasn't joking, Morty, I need you to fix up my boots. These are Martian leather, d-d-do you know how rare Martian leather is, Morty?” He was sitting impatiently on the edge of his cot propped up by his arm, and was barely lit by the blue lights that glowed from whatever humming machines he kept in his quarters. He looked a little more alert than a moment ago, but still slurred out Morty's name in his sentences even more than he did when sober (or as close to sober as Rick ever got).

 “Listen, Rick, I've had a hard day, okay?” Morty turned to leave, but Rick wrapped his long fingers around his shoulder and pulled him back to face the bed where he sat. He stood awkwardly in front of the man, drinking in his uncharacteristically needy expression.

 “I thought you wanted to make me happy-- to-to 'stay by my side', huh?" Rick teased the boy. It was the first time he brought up that conversation since it happened a few weeks ago, and Morty's face flushed red beneath the painted scarlet cheeks.

 “Well, yeah...I do, I guess. _Ugh_. I’ll clean your damn boots.” He conceded. After a quick glance around the tent, he reached for the bootblack kit and grabs the raggedy old cloth that Rick had set on the chest by the cot.

_As if Rick was planning on this._ Morty's mouth was dry, and he licked his lips nervously.

 “What's the matter, Morty? Is the idea of doing extra woURrk around here leaving a bad taste in your mouth?” He continued egging on the boy. He could still hear the distant laughter ringing from the G-top. “You're not going to like this next part then...” Rick plucked the rag from Morty’s fingers. “You can't use these this time.”

“W-what?” Morty sputtered. “How am I supposed to clean your boots without--” Rick touched the boy’s bottom lip with his finger, easing his mouth open. His skin tasted like booze, cotton candy, and gasoline and Morty pulled away abruptly.

 “Are you-- are you serious, Rick? Jesus, that's—that's disgusting. You're just being drunk and weird.” But something in his tone betrayed him and exposed his curiosity. Rick's eyebrow twitched and he grinned, lips still stained with liquor. Morty wasn't completely stupid. He had noticed Rick's hard-on the first time he shined his ringmaster's shoes, and he'd be lying if he said the thought of that didn't do anything to him too... He sighed, already feeling the heat pooling against his thigh, raising a tent of his own. Rick’s eyes darted downwards and quickly back up to meet Morty’s with a shit-eating grin.

“Di-disgusting, huh?”

_God, what is wrong with me,_ they both thought.

“Shut up.” Morty exhaled.

But still, he knelt and gingerly pressed his nose to the ringmaster's dirty boot. The earthy smell of leather and dust flooded his senses. He took a deep breath in and let his wet, pink tongue run across the top of Rick's left boot toe and he drew back up slightly, legitimately disgusted. Rick pushed himself forward and leaned over the teen, grabbing his chin roughly with one hand to angle his face towards him. The look on Rick's face sent shivers down Morty's spine, and a string of saliva arched, stretched, and snapped from the boot back up to his chin.

“Goood, like that.” Rick purred, wiping the spit from Morty's chin with the soiled shoe rag he still clutched in his other hand. Morty squirmed at the unexpected praise. He ached for Rick's approval despite his inadequate abilities in the show and his insecurities as a performer, but in that brief moment he had felt the rush of validation that every performer lives for.

“Better get to work, Morty” Rick smirked and nonchalantly released his grip on his face. “Boots can't exactly clean th-- lick themselves clean, you know.” Morty nodded eagerly.

_It’s the little brat’s turn to feel that fruitless rise of anticipation this time,_ Rick thought, watching eagerly as Morty ran his tongue back over the top of the boot, and traced the line of dirt that scarred the rich leather.

His saliva left a smooth wet trail up the side and dribbled slightly down his face, but he just didn't care anymore. Something about the taste that was repulsive a moment ago became entirely intoxicating to him now with Rick's praises still echoing in his mind. He was only vaguely aware that the ringmaster had undone his tailored pants, being now lost in the scent and taste of leather and dirt. Rick had taken matters into his own hands, and was discreetly stroking himself as he watched the boy work diligently at his feet.

“Mmm.” Morty hummed, satisfied with his work.

He lapped at the next boot and fidgeted trying to settle into a comfortable crouch, but his sudden stiffness made it increasingly difficult. Rick noticed it too, and drew a quick breath through his teeth as he picked up his pace. There was electricity prickling down his neck, and he gasped desperately, already coming close.

His leg moved suddenly and sharply, cutting through the bare inches between them as he pushed Morty back firmly with his other foot, knocking him off balance and right onto his ass. The boy sat, startled, on the floor of Rick's quarters, his own legs sprawled weakly out in front of him, blue light illuminating his ridiculous, confused, spit-smeared face. Rick stood up from the bed, and towered directly over him, silhouetted in the low light.

“Wha-what?” Morty stammered and winced, as Rick came hot sticky streams onto his face; cum and saliva dripped down Morty's painted red cheeks and onto his chest, his costume still stained with that pungent drink that also flowed through Rick’s veins.

  _Wardrobe was going to be pissed_ , was the first thought that ran through his head.

“Oh man, oh gosh,” he sputtered out. The salty mess stuck in his eyelashes and stung in his eyes, making them begin to water. He wiped his face on his sleeve, only further smearing the splatter of grease-paint, mud, jizz, spit, alcohol, and now tears all over himself. He hesitantly raised his eyes to the ringmaster, and for a split second he was the featured act of Rick’s show.

_The freakshow, probably._ Morty’s stomach flipped.

Rick just grinned down at him, and dropped the shoe shining rag on his face.

“Go...go clean up.”


End file.
